Blood of a Bonny
by writingNOOB
Summary: She was every bit like her grandmum: rebellious, wild, and stubborn. Yet when her fathers' crew returns without its' captain, she is given a choice: embrace the Creed that you can never leave or risk losing your family to Deaths Gallows by the Templars. She must set her own course and encounter a long past due reunion of this generations Kenway and Bonny.
1. Departure

**A/N: I do not own Assassin's Creed or any of it's characters. Nor do I intend to make any sort of profit. This is purely fanfiction.**

Excuse any mistakes, let me know if it's bothering you and I will proof read a once over.

I'm also a little rough about some small bits of information, so give me a message and I'll fix it. Just trying add in some touches to the background for the characters. Some character.

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August 29th, 1775 Charles Town, South Carolina

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Assassins and Templars. Assassins and Templars. These names were pondered on as she brushed her deep red strands from her face, inhaling the scents of the open sea by the harbor to savor the comfort she received as she watched the backs of her brothers' board their ship. The crew loading the cargo filled with supplies for the long open seas. It was unknown when she would see them next as only time will tell if their mission will be fruitful.

It was like any other time that they set sail carrying cargo and shipments for suppliers. Or so that's what they wanted her to believe.

She knew for a long time of her families pirating business, even from the tales that their grandmum who lived as one.

However, she wondered if that was all as there seemed to be more than just pirating.

They'd always brush it off or laugh at any of her accusations, as if she were some child sharing some made up dream. She may be the youngest of three, but by far the brightest. Not to say that her brothers were uneducated or dim-witted, she just had a knack at catching details no one would catch or capable of 'reading between the lines' or 'thinking outside the box' as the sayings go.

There were a few instances when she was a wee small lass, catching these strange white figures in the dark, visiting her father in secret. It was peculiar, she thought, that father would be as secretive of his work as he was most definitely open to her elder brothers, even speaking to grandmum when they all thought that she was not paying attention. However, these men would not stay long, as it seemed that they were always on guard with white hoods veiling their faces in shadows.

She had many nightmares with these men as if creatures with long claws and frightening fangs sneaking into her room at night to eat her or rip her apart. It was pretty gruesome some nights. She feared these white hooded men.

She would wake up late due to the moments until the very last night, caught by one of the figures as she peeked carelessly through the cracked door, pushing it slightly to make just enough noise. She remembered well her father's lectures and how angry he was that she would eavesdrop. She hated seeing her father angry, worse when his anger is directed towards her.

Since that night, she would no longer sneak about at night, but during the day on times when father was gone on another of these 'expeditions'.

She honestly thought herself clever in finding some way around her father's specific warnings.

She discovered by reading these stored away letters that each one contained an insignia. A strange one of some sort of arrow head. At least, that was the closest she could think of to compare it to. Yet the letters were all encrypted. She struggled to decipher them, but only gathered bits and even then nothing was comprehensible.

However, she was her grandmum's grandchild. A stubborn irish lass.

Who are these people that her father and brothers work with? These symbols were even on the hooded creepers. The men who looked dangerous and intimidating.

For years, she'd return to read these letters secretly. They presented a challenge that she took full on, determined to unmask the secrets of her family. Eventually, she was able to make some sense of the letters through the arranged symbols.

That was how she gathered the two groups: Assassin's and Templars.

In a way, she could not believe it. Another world entirely it seemed, one of the shadows that no one knew was at war. For so many years in the dark, now she wondered if she could ever go back to being ignorant. Perhaps if she were to keep this knowledge to herself, none would be the wiser. She would be safe from either side. Yet from what she understood, her father was associated with the Assassin's Creed.

So, would that make them allies? What would they do if they found out she stole glances at their letters? Would...they kill her?

They couldn't do anything if they thought she couldn't understand a damn thing in their letters...right?

All these thoughts brought forth more fear in her, but what was the point? Let yourself wallow in fear or face the problem 'if' it introduces itself?

Regardless of what she feared, she still wanted to learn more. 'Curiosity killed them cat' as they say. So she decided to go with it. By family, she had a right. Everyone, but herself, were involved.

To her surprise, she was not the only one on this wavelength.

In her grasp, she held the journal of the one called Edward Kenway.

Grandmum had given this to her with a silent look as if she knew all this time of her secret investigations. Not once had she stopped her from her searches. It was as if she expected it long before even she knew what she would decide.

It was strange to be given this as she was told stories as a child about the man. He seemed to be a myth to her. Yet her father knew the man well, especially her grandmum who became his quarter master for a time until she departed from the creed. Only to have her daughter fall in love with another pirate assassin, her father. A man of many trades, it seemed.

Was it fate that she, too, should follow the call of the sea or the creed?

The calls of sea gulls overhead pulled her from her thoughts as she stood nearby the docking bay, worn brown hat sitting firmly upon her head, hair hidden in a navy blue sash that wrapped to keep her hair beneath. Bangs framing her dirt smudged pale face.

"Move boy." with an unexpected rough shove in the opposite direction of more boarding ships, a grungy, dirty man with rotting teeth sneered at her as she gradually stepped back, giving the man her best dirty look she could.

With a sigh, gritting her teeth in struggle of keeping her mouth shut, she stepped around, glaring heatedly as she stomped away.

"What a rude bastard!" she grumbled quietly, careful not to reveal too much of her Irish accent as not all are particularly friendly towards certain foreigners.

There is prejudice all around.

Simply speaking the wrong way can send you to your grave early. She's seen it! Or thrown in jail with false accusations. All because of some, not all, 'red coats'. She's met plenty of kind folk, but perhaps time away from home can change a man. Or just liquor.

Being female and Irish, well...

History has set distrust between the few islands and countries. Yet she had hope. She felt that the future will look brighter. Maybe not in her lifetime, but all will be viewed free and equal.

It was easy at her young age of sixteen to keep the visage of a messenger boy, a courier, tied together well with her chest bound beneath a long dark blue jacket bound at the waist with dark red sash tucked with two black belts and a messenger bag hanging from her shoulders. Beneath she wore a white shirt with loose trousers, and worn dark brown knee high boots.

As she watched her brothers' ship begin to sail, she followed its path along the docking until she could walk beside it.

"Aedan! Liam!" she called out in hopes of catching their attention all the while moving and pushing her way through the throngs of people, climbing and jumping over crates with clumsily.

All through her hectic attempts and the growing irritated groups she pushed through, Liam caught sight of her instantly with amusement sparkling in his calm hazel eyes, nudging the other until two identical faces looked at her with surprise. Twins who inherited most of their fathers features of dark hair and hazel eyes, built tall and toned.

At this instant, they've kept their own white hoods (a recent addition to their everyday wardrobe) down, messy hair strapped down by their sash with beaded braids along the sides of their heads, one looped silver earring on the opposite side than the other brother. Subtle chin beards grew with hints of red fairly visible within their darker shades when the sun hits it just right.

Personally, they looked ridiculous and she never hesitated to express her personal opinions to them. And vise versa. Yet she wasn't one to talk, wearing her own beaded braids and silver looped earrings. It was all for the image, she was told.

Ridiculous they may appear, it was rather fun.

As she walked closer to the docks edge, they did the same to the ship. With a lazy smirk, Aedan set one boot leaning against the ships edge while Liam leaned against the railing with concern written across his face. It's clear to see which was the more thoughtful of the two.

"If it isn't 'Harriet'. Did not think our beloved little 'brother' would be so upset about our departure. I'm truly touched!" Aedan joked as he placed his palm against his chest in exaggerated flattery and shock. The serious Liam shook his head and looked to their sister who looked rather red in the face. Her temper slowly working its way up to the surface.

With a growl, the disguised girl sped to keep up. It was always easy for her to tell the difference between the two as their personalities always contrasted to the other when it came to her. Of course, it does help when they wear their red sashes differently as one wore it around their head while the other wore it around their upper bicep. Unfortunately switching every day. Always no good to try to memorize their pattern.

Today was not one of those days. They looked too fucking identical. Whether it was intentional? Oh, it sure fucking was.

"Promise!" she demanded while shoving her way through a group of angry men who shouted after her. She ignored every protest and shoved through some more. She didn't care.

"Aye, we promise to come back for ya, lil' bugger! Now move along or run into the wa'er. Take yer pick!" Aedan rolled his eyes, preparing to turn until she yelled at the top of her lungs "smelly, ugly bastard".

Glaring rather irritably, he returned the insult. "Shitty, foul-mouthed brat! The hell did ya call me?! Ladies shouldn't be using such language! Especially dressin' like that! One would think you're a damn uni!"

"Kiss a pigs ass and eat shit, ya sod! I give ya one year!" she called out with a cocky smirk knowing full well how to grate on his nerves.

"Aedan, patience…" Liam placed a hand over his twins shoulder in warning. "Just the girls habits she inherited, sadly, from grandmum. Bless the old gals' heart, even she struggles with the consequences of speaking too freely in front of an impressionable lass."

The elder twin growled a few incoherent curses as he tried to ease his boiling temper before looking back at the girl.

"For the love of-! What do ya mean one year? For what may I ask?" Aedan rubbed the bridge of his nose, slowly getting calming down. The louder and angrier he gets, the stronger his butchered accent becomes.

"If ya do not return after that, I will come after you two imbeciles and give ya the boot!" she laughed while running on a now open dock.

Aedan laughed loudly soon followed by Liam as she reached the edge of the dock where it could reach out no further. They gave no actual response, which she gathered was one that they could not keep, or simply were not sure if they could make that promise. Whatever mission they set out for, even she knew well how serious it was. There was a high chance of neither returning, just like the rest.

She watched as the seagulls flew overhead into the distance, the seas strong waves mixed with the crews loud, boisterous calls. That was the last she saw of them for some time.

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**A/N: And that is all for this chapter. Short in terms of what happened, but it will progress from the next chapter. I'm trying to progress much in each chapter, but not necessarily rushing the story. I suppose it's adding some more events.**

**So, to keep my story straight historically and to the game, assuming all is accurate, I will actually give some hints to the time skips and whatever. It makes establishment easier for one thing. Gotta have a visual.**

**For example, 1775 was a pretty busy year. The Ride of Paul Revere, if we remember sharing that lovely horse. And the Battles of Lexington and Concord. And so on, and since this is not a history lesson, let's just keep it simple. Also...did not remember, or knew at all, that Johnny Appleseed was born on Sep 26, 1775...**

**...wow, I was truly never a history buff, so...better to freshen up my memory right now before some one bashes me for it.**


	2. Not Alone

**A/N: I don't own Assassin's Creed nor do I intend to make any profit. I only own the conceptual ideas of the characters that I have created for this fan made story.**

**Also, I've no clue as to how to properly write out accents through their conversations, so please excuse it. I can do subtle changes.**

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September 16th, 1775 Charles Town, South Carolina

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In a long time, she finally remembered why she felt so at peace.

Warm beautiful summers and breath-taking, yet mild winters. Stunning fall foliage in autumn and richly warm green countryside in the spring - South Carolina offered sensational weather year-round.

What she loved most about this place were the South Carolinian's who carry a sense of folly and ironic wit. A fellowship of humankind who were nonchalant with a "live and let live" disposition, except for the corrupted men who create havoc.

It comes in spurts, when the attacks become horrific and innocents are taken. As these moments became a tempestuous period in town, they soon were purged. By men in hooded white, eliminating the threats. News spread, and wanted posters were hung of two different faces, three figures.

She knew immediately.

Starting with long hours away and together, her father and brothers were often 'working' freelance odd-jobs. Her brothers were clever to use their identical appearances and mirroring their clothes, throwing off guards while running away and confusing them. She has been a witness to a few, catching her brothers fighting as more 'white hooded creepers', cutlasses and pistols swiftly executing the enemies. In instances, she'd join to help when she can from fighting to preventing any casualties.

That is how she met some of her closest mates.

To her left and right, under the darkening sky of the outer skirts of Charles Town, she sat in her male visage of dark grey coat and breeches with her small crew that formed through chance events.

"I've got this job the other da'," beside her spoke a dirt smudged, scruffy face covered by freckles. Half his face was shadowed by his strong brows under the dim lamps they set on a crate just beside them, giving him an intimidating expression despite him actually feeling the opposite. He babbled on in high energy over his latest brawl with a target, paid decently under the table.

Harriet sat before him tending to the bruises and cuts on his masculine face. Due to his urgent need of fixing up, she had to postpone her return to her families manor on the Homestead.

Through fighting a few red coats that were trying to decimate a poor, unfortunate families property, she first met Don, a brawler of the streets and the man to call on for some dirty jobs. He came to America from Scotland with his father who is a merchant here at one of the General Stores and a heavy drinker.

Unique with his thick shoulder-length, curly, ginger hair that was more auburn than hers was adorned with a few longer braids at the back of his neck. Bright with his optimistic personality, he had chocolate brown eyes, and a, impressive beard that made him look past his teen years. Though a year above her age, he looked older by ten years yet acted a reckless child with no worry of any consequences. He was a natural care-free spirit who loved to have the occasional brawl.

"Don't miss those dirty specks along his pasty skin, my dear." mocked another masculine voice from the opposite of Don, a hand extended out at the annoyed Scot. His accent thick with a natural Spanish roll of the tongue.

Pausing from her work, she turned to give her best unimpressed expression, glaring lightly. "Those are his freckles, idiot."

"No, my dear, yours are freckles. Blessed by angel kisses." He grinned with a wink. "He must've been kissed by the diablo."

"You are incorrigible and exhausting." she sighed with a roll of her green eyes.

"Love, I could truly exhaust you, if you'd like." he laughed at his joke, only earning a quick smack to the head. Don gave his own exasperated grunt, neither of them could understand why he was the way he was.

Good old Romario! A Cuban whose father sails with her brothers. Originally he stayed with his mothers' family overseas until he caused so much trouble that even they could not stand him. He fancied himself a ladies man, never missing an opportunity to jump into bed with another lass, including attempts at 'wooing' herself since he discovered her true gender and identity. Accusing her of being, too, feminine previously and mocked her for it, when knowing her as a male.

He stood behind her with a cocky grin and confident posture, slightly tanned skin with dark hair and eyes. He was three years her senior, older but lacked tact.

Dressed in faded blue, loose white shirt left open for his toned tanned chest and light chest hair to peek through. One would think that he was trying very hard to show his masculine glory. His coat was slightly darker, with intricate embroidery and buttons.

He tried to look intriguing to the eye. Claiming that women love mysterious men.

If she were paid a shilling for every time that she saved their useless asses, she'd be a rich lady today. Life was never dull with those two.

Despite how perverted or slow in the head they could be, she still loved the intellect and the willingness of her mates who engage on virtually any topic. Though they all knew her as 'Harriet', whenever she was in disguise. Though the towns people knew her by another. She tried her best to keep her two identities separate.

So when she finally met her two mates, they would do jobs together all through Charles Town, a vastly growing, bustling trade center for the southern colonies. Wealthiest and largest city south of Philadelphia.

It's the hub of the deerskin trade. Trade alliances with the Cherokee natives and Creek nations who insured such steady supply of the deer hides. She herself had her own crafted coats and clothes.

In fact, her satchel was made of the deerskin. A precious gift she holds dear. One that was crafted for her by a friend she made during a trade her father orchestrated with the Cherokee when she was a smaller lass, dressed as a girl for once.

A friend she hoped to see some day.

"It's all done." Harriet huffed as she closed her kit to place back inside her deerskin satchel, having finished a few stitches necessary on the Scots face. "I have to go now if I'm to leave early for home."

"You could stay with me, love. It'll just be me and myself." The handsome Cuban winked at her, giving her one of those signature smirks he gave all the ladies. She remained immune to his charms. She's seen it a million times from him and other scoundrels.

"I can't, Romario. I need to tend to some errands for my grandmum." she scoffed, dusting of her breeches and straightening her three-corner black hat.

"That sounds very unlike you. Forgive me if I find it hard to believe that you are the same Harriet we grew up with for, oh, I dunno, seven years?" Romario gazed at her curiously, casually straightening his faded blue waistcoat and coat.

She's acquired quite the reputation amongst them. So to them, this was slightly out of character. She's always run off and done what she willed, never caring for most consequences. Always arguing and getting scolded by her grandmum. She'd often retort with 'hypocrite' and the like.

That was until as of late. She's become quite scarce amongst the boys.

Looking away briefly, she gathered her thoughts and wondered how much she has changed since her family has broken apart. It's not something that she was consciously aware of doing.

"Since my da and brothers are gone. Grandmum has no one to help or care for her...she has...grown old. That's what happens when many years pass." she looked down in conflict, thoughts straying to ones she considered unfathomable or forbidden. "Time is starting to show it's caught up. Before she was always so...full of energy, for an old lady considering."

Both boys were silent at this. They knew well how much she loved her grandmum, even they felt a close bond to the ol' gal.

She was afraid to lose her. To be left alone, abandoned by the last of her family.

"Harriet," Don spoke, not looking at her, but held his hand upon her shoulder. "You must be prepared for...well, you know...but do know that...Romario and I are here for you. As you've always looked out for us. We owe you big time."

"Thanks, Don. Perhaps there is still hope for you after all." Harriet laughed at his expression, raising the mood as she was not so accustomed to 'sharing' feelings. Possibly the tomboy in her.

"Well, you know where we are, Harriet." Don gestures to the both of them as he stood up, hovering over like a giant bear. A large man he's become, it still shocks her today considering he used to be quite scrawny growing up.

"Aye, and you as well. Now," she stretched and looked at the dark sky. "I shall be off."

After a few good-byes, she was gone from their sights. She took a moment to check on her horse, Bandit, before turning in at the Wild Horse Inn. It would take her some hours before she returned home, so a full nights rest would do her well for the ride.

Tossing her three-cornered hat to the chair by the closed window, she kicked her boots off and threw her coat, waistcoat, and breeches to the floor, leaving her only in the long shirt. She then unwound her long red tresses and braided them into a loose long tail down her back. The moment she hit the bed with one leg and arm dangling the side, not bothering about the covers in the warm air, she was out. Sleep could not have come sooner and she could not wait to be home once more.

They lived in a manor along the coastal of South Carolina. Close and far from the towns, yet lively all the same as others have joined their little remote land. Her father's and brother's ships dock at this small cove discovered for their own.

The smell of gun powder and the sea were some of the last memories she had of her father.

He's been over seas doing lord knows what for nearly five years, having last seen him as a child. She's changed, grown in that time span and she can't help but wonder if he has as well. A few more greys, no doubt.

What else could she remember?

His beard.

He always grew out his beard from whether he stopped caring about his appearance or he just took some shine to the look. She remembered the course feel that tickled her face as a small lass, giggling as she'd squirm and kick to get out of his grasp. He was a bigger man, strong arms that carried her around with little to no effort. She felt safe within these arms. That feeling was terribly missed.

Yet of all the memories she took to heart, she most enjoyed the short rides on his ship. From a small child to the time he left, he'd take her out to sail in short distances to give her some adventure and grow accustomed to her families nature. Her favorite part is when he'd let her wear his large captain's hat, flicking her head back and forth as the funny big feather swishes, and most importantly command her elder brothers around as second captain while helping her father steer the ship.

Oh, she enjoyed the tortured expressions Aedan gave when she commanded that he scrub the docks and scrub off the scum from outside the ship, or else she'd make him 'walk the plank'. An old joke father teased.

He had to do it too!

As daddy's little girl, she could get away with almost anything, including bullying the one brother.

In her defense, she was just a wee lass, what kind if harm could she do?

He had no idea.

Perhaps this is where she acquired the rebellious and wild nature. Having gotten away with many things because of her father.

To his amusement and fatherly pride, she picked up many sailor words. The ones that would make anyone turn in their grave. Until grandmum came into the picture...she wasn't quite thrilled by her extended choice of new vocabulary.

Though truly she enjoyed the feeling of the strong winds and the sprays from the ocean as the large waves that pound against the sides of the ship. Waving to people on the shores excitedly. The bright sun warming her cheeks and the scents she discovered were all so new.

Except the crew...they smelt like her brothers feet and breath.

She had many dreams of sailing and discovering new treasures, even romance.

Grandmum had told her of her love life, possibly leaving certain details out for her sake. From the man she married that had her 'disowned' by her own father to Rackham, the man she loved dearly.

Often times, she wondered if there was something between her and Edward Kenway, based upon how often she spoke of him, and how.

Yet she wondered. She wondered, what sort of man would she love?

What man would find a cross dressing lass attractive?

To her disgust, Romario came to mind. Shivering, she tossed in her bed, hand over her forehead, eyes half-lidded from inconsistent sleep. Hair tousled and still in her loose braid.

Regardless, even if she were to find someone, a man to keep her steady, which was entirely unlikely, she will watch over her grandmum.

She will not let her feel alone again. Nor live it.

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**A/N: It's different than I intended. I actually took out half to consider for the next chapter which will be posted shortly after. It's difficult to create conversations. My biggest issue. It's like...what should they say or speak of?  
**

**Anyone have any tips?**

**Also, I'm willing to use a piece of my own Irish family's connection's(very limited it may be)as a bit of an inspiration/idea, only as a way to give it a personal touch. I'm pointing out that I have family who were from Ireland, my great-grandmother as an example, sadly never met her. And also, my last name, Lynch, which is of Irish and English origin. On my mother's side. You can see some correspondence here.**

**Don't take anything to heart if offended. Please.**

**Anyway, some personal history to connect to the audience and relate to the character I'm still introducing.**

**Never have I written from actual history or something so personal into a story. A new concept for me.**


	3. A Talk with Grandmum

**A/N: I do not own Assassin's Creed nor the characters. I do not intend to make any sort of profit off of this.**

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The Next day on the Lynch Homestead Manor in South Carolina

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Standing a fair distance from a fence facing away from the manor, Harriet prepared her pistol for another shot, aiming directly at the old tin cans as targets. Call it old fashion training, but there were no actual practice targets besides her own created ones. She had to improvise.

Setting down her pistol near the rifle that leaned against a small stand, she took a deep breath and let her arms fall to her sides.

Dressed in a faded green old summer gown with rolled up sleeves and a soft hue stomacher attached to her bodice, the lass stood with the wind, holding down her her worn petticoat from lifting. While enjoying the breeze, she braided her long red hair and re-braided it into a side-length french tail, tying a dark blue band at the end.

Not often does she wear dresses, especially for shooting practice, but she felt tired of her breeches for once.

Bright forest green eyes gazed up at the ocean view, standing along the cliff side to the back yard of their small manor when she felt a sudden sting across her back from a loud sounded "thwack".

"OH frolicking devils!" Arms thrust back, one overhead and the other twisted to her side, in attempt to reach her stinging back while twisting in a half circle as she fell into a writhing heap upon the dirt ground. She cried out nonsense as the attacker stood over her with a few 'tuts' and a disappointed sigh.

"Let your guard down again, my dear." With a cackle, an old woman with grey and white tresses wound in a loose bun walked around with a subtle pain, heading in the direction of the back porch to their manor that was covered with ivy vines and flower pots hanging from the railings.

'_Seriously?! How can she be up without collapsing?!'_

"Y-_gasp_-crazy ol' bat! _COUGH-_What did you hit me with?! And WHY?" She shouted while awkwardly standing in a stiff board-like walk. The pain was excruciating. "You are seriously touched in the head at that ol' age, woman!"

"I see that your energy has returned to you this morning." As she turned fully to look, that's when she realized the old woman carried something that looked like a sheathed sword. Even knowing she was a pirate, seeing her grandmum carry a weapon...was still unfathomable! She's never seen it!

"What's that?" She asked curiously, eying the designs along the handle and sheath. It certainly looked old.

"A cutlass. Obviously."

Pursing her light pink lips, she bit her tongue while narrowing her eyes and a brow raised at the tone of her grandmum. She never changes. She swore, the older she got, the shorter her fuse.

"Ha! I'm surprised you have no come back. I would have. But we are our own people, no matter how much you take after me...shockingly." She chuckled, setting the sword upon a circular white table as she reached for a cup to pour them both lemonade she prepared.

The young woman's mouth watered at the anticipation of such a sweet taste against her tongue. Her favorite flavors combined had always been the clashing sweets and sours.

"That and yer finally showing some respect by holding your smart remarks. You learn faster than that show-off of yer brother, Aedan." She grinned as she sat down. Though aged, her eyes still revealed her rebellious spirit that never changed.

Sitting down with crossing her worsted shoes, she situated her dress, grateful to not having to wear the abomination that is the hooped petticoat. Being a proper colonial lady was always a pain, so many layers of heavy material in the heat

"Grandmum, may I ask you something?" she sipped at her cup.

"You just did child, but go on." she grinned wickedly at her grandchild's exasperated expression.

Sitting beside her she pulled out the journal given to her. Staring at for a few moments, she flipped through the pages carefully while considering her own thoughts.

"You miss him, don't you?" It was more of a statement than a question. She looked to her grandmum who was smiling sadly whilst gazing at the horizon.

"Aye. A fool he was, but...a good man." she whispered with care in her aged voice.

"I wish...that I, too, could have met him. Father seems to speak very highly of him, even in present tense. As if he still yet lives." she pondered on the many words that her father spoke, raising her respect and awe of the man. She remembered the advice he repeated that Kenway had given him once.

"He would have liked you. Probably tease you all the time for taking after me, but sometimes...good things come to and end, my dear." she sighed, leaning back against the chair, fixing her yellow dress. Her grandmum must've been quite a beauty in her younger years. Beautiful now, but something about her told her that she was well sought after.

She hesitated for a few moments, desperately wanting to ask a thought that had crossed her sad, romantic imagination. "W-weeeere...the two of yoooooou...um..."

She ended it with her usual reference to romantic situations by the twirl of her pinky and raising her brows with a suggestive look.

Whatever it actually meant, she had no fucking clue. It just sort of...came to be.

At the not-so-subtle insinuation, her grandmum turned abruptly to her as if to spring into attack. She could never forget the expression her grandmum held on her face at this moment. One she wished to burn into memory as it was a very rare occasion to catch her grandmum unprepared. She looked crossed with a mixture of utter shock, disgust, and horror!

At this, she could not hold back the erupting laughter that shook her whole frame to the bone."I-I'm so'ry-_hahahaha-_G-GR-GRAND-M-MUM! I just...th-thought from how well and f-fondly you speak of the man that you two-_PFT-_were lovers or something of the sort!" her laughter died short when she felt that familiar sting collide at her side this time, doubling over with pain rather than laughter. "H-Hey! It was only a question! No offense intended, grandmum!"

"Insufferable brat!" she growled under her breath, placing the blade back down on the table.

"Not to rush you, but are you going to tell me why you have a sword? Odd for an old lady to carry around a _pirate_ sword. Are you using as your cane now? I suppose that it's fitting. For an ex-pirate." she inquired, eying the offending weapon, the stings on her back and side still tingling. Her teasing did not go unpunished as she received a harsh glare and bop to the head.

"It was the very same blade I kept with me during my time while pirating. An heirloom, if you will, from...Rackham." she glanced at the younger girl, smiling slightly as she eagerly offered it to her, who took it with hesitation. "I intend to give this to you."

"WH-WHAT? Why?" she looked at the blade within her hands, hesitating.

"You are my blood, my 'heir'. I felt it acceptable as I will most certainly no longer have need of it. Should I encounter Templars, though unlikely, or burglars, I can use one of the blades your father left here. I thought it appropriate."

"I understand. But," she placed the journal on the table and gestured to it. "Why did you give this to me? Why not his son? He lives, right?"

The lady faltered, unsure of what to say. "You do not know the truth, so let me be the one to show you. I shall start from the beginning."

"Ugh! Not another stor'y!" Mary-Anne slumped in her seat, head thrown back, hanging arms to either side and kicked out her legs. All in fun to spur her grandmum's temper.

"Quiet you ungrateful child!" she glared and leaned forward for refilling their cups. "As you know already, I was known far across the seas as a pirate queen, Anne Bonny."

She looked fondly at her grandchild and placed her hand on her knee. "You were named after me by your mother, but also another."

She already knew this. Her name was intended to hold meaning and honor the ones she was named after. Though odd, she was proud of her name.

"You refer to Mary Read. Yes, I know her story as another you pirated beside. But," she paused and looked at the journal. "She, in a way, was one of the few who tied you all together. She...was highly thought of by...Mister Kenway, as I read his thoughts."

"Yes, Mary, also known once as James Kidd, was someone very dear. Like you, your mother loved the stories of our adventures. She loved the name Mary and wished to continue the Bonny name as well. Personally, I was sceptical, but names carry meaning. Thus how you were named 'Mary Anne Bonny-Lynch'. A mouthful, but catchy, as your mother put it. Of course, she was never really good at naming things..."

"I wished that I could remember more of her..." Harriet, or rather Mary Anne, leaned forward against her elbows and stared outwards at the scenery. Her eyes darkened at the thought of the lies of her mothers' death. "Why did he lie to me about her death? What really happened?!"

It's true. He was never clear with how she died. Only that she was 'taken'.

"You were young. Your father thought tha-" Anne began, but was cut off before she could express more.

"He does not think. Nor does he know what is right for me! Not Aedan or Liam or you it seems!" she snapped. Instantly she felt regret at yelling from the exhausted and sad look her grandmum gave her.

"He has only done what was best for you. What he thought-" she paused, not sure how to justify the mess created. Even she would react the same were she in the same shoes as her grandchild.

"That does not excuse a false truth of what happened to my own mother." She sighed, dropping her hands on the table with force. Her temper willing itself up, but she kept it in check the best she could. "I have been kept in the shadows for far too long! I know of the Templars and Assassins! Everyone must think of me still as a child. I can handle the truth!"

There was a short silence between the two. She wondered at how childish she may sound at this moment, but it was what she felt. Frustrated. Alone. She felt like an outsider in her own family.

"To know the truth of what happened to your mother would also create more conflict within your heart, Mary Anne. As it is also not my place, but your fathers to tell you the truth." she spoke calmly, but judging by the look in the old woman's eyes, Mary Anne knew this look well. She would not relent. A look that she herself used quite often.

"That will not stop me. I am not a child any more. I am capable of handling myself." she could be just as stubborn as the old bat.

"Then what is it you wish to do?" she sighed with arms thrown outwards, her own temper flaring. They were both just as frustrated.

"I," that was a good question. All she's done was wish to know what they knew and find truths. But, never thought of what to do with it. What actions she ought to take. She was simply acting before thinking. "I will figure that out once I cross that bridge."

"Then let us hope that that bridge will not be burned down before or while you get to it." she shook her head.

"Then I must find father..." of course that would mean leaving her grandmum alone at the manor. Who else would take care of her?

Abruptly, Anne stood, signaling for the girl to follow.

"Wha? Where are you goin?" she called out, but the old woman kept on.

Mary Anne grabbed both the journal and cutlass before she followed her grandmum, only to stare in shock at her pulling a lever that proceeded to pull the bookshelf out to reveal a secret stairway.

"What the hell is this? How is it that I never knew this was here?! In the library of all places? Wha-"

"Stop yer babbling and follow, troublesome brat." she snapped with a glare. "And close that mouth of yours, it's unbecoming of you."

With a groan, she followed. Silently.

Some how she felt scared. This is what she wanted to find out all this time, yet now, of all moments, she felt like getting cold feet. Grandmum was offering her the truth of everything.

Then why does she feel like eating her own words?

The old woman stopped at the end of the stairs, all the while leaning against the railing. It was clear that moving around has become quite the challenge for her.

"The Templars know of you, and it is very possible that they will do to you what they did to Edward and his children. And," she looked back with sadness and finished her sentence. "Your mother. I cannot allow this to happen. Not again."

So her assumption was correct. The Templars were involved with her mothers premature death.

"What should I do?" Mary Anne felt the words leave her mouth before thinking.

"In time, it will be revealed what course of action that you must take, but it is a choice that you must consider for all and not just yourself." She lead Mary Anne towards a room covered by a torn dark blue cloth, a man-made room. She stopped and turned to her granddaughter, face grim and unsure. "It may be difficult, but we all have faith and will be here for you. As are your brothers."

It was clear that her grandmum did not wish for her to follow this path, whatever it may be, but she could see that this is what must come to pass.

"Who can I trust, then? I am not an Assassin. I have no true affiliation besides my blood." she whispered.

"You are the daughter of an Assassin, as are your brothers. I was never an Assassin, but I was however of the Brotherhood. We who support and ally ourselves to the Assassins Creed. Their Order."

The Brotherhood. She remembered reading about these groups and affiliations in the journal Edward wrote. The only true source of knowledge regarding the Assassins. Though it was not much of anything is attempted to use against the Assassins, as it were simple things mentioned and events.

"I do not have to become as Assassin, but I can join them as myself?" she asked in hope. She doubted that she could hold up to being as assassin like they, but could work with them and help when they need the extra hand.

"Aye, child. Unfortunately, I cannot offer you the proper training to become one, but I can, however, educate and give you as much advice as I possibly can." turning, Anne lifted the fabric and entered. Mary Anne followed.

The moment she set foot, her eyes struggled to focus on one thing as there were so many sharp objects before her. It looked like that this hidden floor was a torture dungeon!

She shivered at the mere thought, worry and fear quickly clawing at her mind and it was quiet obvious what she was experiencing.

Picking up on Mary Anne's discomfort, her grandmum followed her eyes to see what she stuck to finally after glancing everywhere.

"Ah, the hidden blade." She stepped forward and lifted it from the display shelf. "This, I can actually give you. It was your fathers very first one, when he was learning how to wield it. Then it became your brothers, Liams'. Now, it shall be yours."

When Anne moved forward, Mary Anne jumped back. She couldn't figure out why, but something about all of this was a bit overwhelming.

Sighing, Anne watched her grandchild carefully. "Fear is an attitude that needs adjustment. You will get over it."

Roughly, she pulled Mary Anne's arm forward and adjusted the band to fit her. It was a dark brown leather, with straps that secured it and the symbol of the Creed.

"Your brothers have been teaching you many things with the rapier. I have seen what you are capable of and you are very ready." she spoke casually, but Mary Anne was slowly processing everything she said.

"W-Wait, you mean to tell me that Aedan and Laim have been training me to be ready for...'this'," she gestured to the room filled with weapons. "and I've been oblivious to it all?"

"That is one way of putting it." the ex-pirate laughed at her grandaughters reddening face. It seems that she was ignorant to all purpose of her training.

"When I get my hands on them..." she gritted her teeth.

"Be still or you'll lose a finger, girl!" snapping her attention back to her wrist, she noticed how snug it felt, but rightly fitted. It was fascinating to see, a unique weapon.

"How does it work exactly?" she inquired, eying the thing as if it would kill her any second now. When her grandmum stepped back, she did not move an inch. Her arm remained in air, extended out as she left it.

Anne observed her grandchild, gradually twist her arm to test out how it felt. Before she'd really lose a finger, Anne stepped in with some advice.

"A blade is hidden at the base of your inner wrist, so I strongly advise you not to put your hand that way." With a gesture of her own hand, she showed the girl the gesture and motion of how to use it. With a flick of her own wrist, Mary Anne yelped with a start as a blade pushed out immediately, scaring her.

She checked out the blade and reversed the gesture to sheath it. And flicked her wrist upwards again to see it shoot out once more. And again. She repeated this process a few times before finally getting a hold on it.

"So da', Aedan, and Liam all carry on of these? Fascinating." she thought about it for a second, registering that this is one of the most effective ways of killing a person in public and assassinating period. She'd rather think of it as a self defense weapon, hidden for in case.

"It's natural for you, it seems. You are you fathers daughter." Anne mused as the girl messed around with stances that seemed completely ridiculous looking. Scoffing to herself, she shook her and could not agree more at how much she and her father were.

"Now be careful when you take it off. We have more things to go over if you are to be filled in on today's events." Anne brushed past her grandchild, hoping that this will all go down well. If she were truly anything like her, she'd rebel against all of those who oppose and create many enemies, possibly acquire her own wanted poser.

A startled screamed stopped her in her footsteps, closing her eyes with a sigh.

"I'm bleeding! The damn devil cut me!"

* * *

**A/N: Quick update. I'm going as I write. I'm told that the first thing is always the best instead of constantly reading over and changing too much. So, I'm going with the flow.**


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